


Old Friend

by peachmeowzipan



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: "First Meetings", Linus has something like magical amnesia, M/M, a lot of headcanons in here, but it might resemble Alzheimer's, label says mix contents until mildly unsure, takes place ten or more years before the main game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22360264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachmeowzipan/pseuds/peachmeowzipan
Summary: “There is not much that can surprise me anymore, and I don't know what it says about the way the world is going that you caught me off guard when I sensed your presence enter the valley,” he paused, emptying the rest of the needles from his palm into the cauldron, stirring them into the thick, green goop as the smell grew nearly unbearable, “Or maybe it says something about me.”“Maybe it says something about both,” Linus remarked through gritted teeth, “It doesn't have to be one way or the other.”
Relationships: Linus & Wizard | M. Rasmodius, Linus/Wizard | M. Rasmodius
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> we don't actually know Anything about Linus (as far as i know), beyond the fact that his major defining trait is Being Homeless. and we don't know much about Rasmodius (or how they met), so this entire thing is just a lot of headcanons that we never really make direct eye contact with.
> 
> also, i know there's dialog in the game that implies a certain character might be his daughter, and there are a lot of hints, but let's assume at this point he either doesn't know yet or just doesn't feel like telling Linus, because when i wrote this, i didn't actually know about it. *sweats* i just knew it was a popular theory. i always wait until the last minute to fact-check myself on characterization or like. details relating to canon compliance.  
> also, rasmodius' tower almost had a completely different layout constructed from memory, until i looked that up, too.

Linus met him in the bitter throws of winter, huddled up inside of his tent and blowing puffs of warm air into his cold hands, bundled as they were in the blanket he had draped around himself.

He was half-covered by his sleeping bag, which was tucked securely around his legs, and sitting close enough to the mouth of his tent that he could feel the heat from his campfire by proxy of the stray, icy breeze. It did little to help warm him, but he liked to see it lit regardless.

As he watched the flickering flames, he wondered idly if this would be the year he finally either froze to death or swallowed his pride and asked to sleep at the saloon. His magic was fading, had been fading for years, and he could barely remember what it felt like anymore, the memories of spells drifting into his mind's eye, as if he could summon them if only he could get a firm grasp on them, if only he could call upon that familiar swell of energy again. They always flitted away, however, before he could even see them properly.

It was like trying to catch tiny minnows with your hands, he mused absently, gaze fixed blankly on the roaring flames of the fire before him. Or like trying to learn how to fish without a rod.

He remembered that– learning how to fish after he'd found himself alone in the valley, years older than he remembered being, years younger than he felt he was. He'd came in on a train filled with coal, decided this was his stop when he'd smelled the magic in the air, and it was strong here, it was fresh here– as if it were still new, despite being thousands of years old. Junimo still lived here; _many_ creatures still lived here. The mines were rich with them, flooded with them, and this place was full with the sounds of their history. He had heard it on the breeze when he'd neared the town, like music he hadn't listened to in a long time.

Before he'd made this journey, he'd used the last of his funds to buy his tent and supplies, and when he reached its end, he planted himself close to the mines so he could go down there and talk to them, if he felt like it, close to the tracks so he knew he could leave, if he wanted. He hadn't wanted to yet, no matter how harsh the winters were, no matter how hard it was, learning how to do everything like a human. And he _was_ human now, wasn't he. He'd always _been_ human really, if he reached as far back into his memories as he could. No matter how far he'd gone, no matter what he did, he'd always been human somewhere, and it was all coming back to him now. Whether he liked it or not.

He could still hear the Junimo, at least. They'd been everywhere at first, but they'd stopped visiting him at some point after year ten. The whispers had become quieter, less distinct, but he could still hear them now and again, still knew what the hushed syllables meant. They were hiding from something, would likely stay in hiding until they all just faded away and went... somewhere else.

They were a bit like him in that way, he supposed. Or maybe he was like them. He was hiding too, after all, had been hiding for years, and he was starting to forget why, the memory locked away in some shadowy part of his mind that he couldn't access anymore even if he tried. He liked being alone, and he thought he always had liked it, especially since he was sure that mortals had always shunned he and his kin, anyway.

It was no different now, even though he lived among them, close enough to see, far enough away that he was out of sight. He knew what the people of the valley thought about him, had heard them whisper when he dared to wander into town or show up at their celebrations. All he could do was his best, and that's what he would keep doing, despite all of them. Despite everything.

When Rasmodius finally got around to greeting him, he hadn't been surprised. He'd known about him since he'd settled down in Stardew Valley, had passed his tower on multiple occasions when he'd made his trips down to Cinder Snap forest to forage.

“Hail, old friend,” the violet haired wizard said, kneeling down at the open flap of his tent. Linus' gaze shifted to him absently.

He was certain that he and this man had never met, but he thought he remembered being greeted this way in the past by other strangers– strangers who had heard of him before, perhaps, or strangers who saw him as an equal. The greeting felt familiar and made him feel warm, much warmer than his blankets, and much warmer than he had felt in a long time. It made him feel seen. He grunted, eyes flickering from the man's black hat to his matching black clothing, trimmed with golden thread around the neck of his robe, the waist of his tunic, and all made with a fabric that appeared plain, but wasn't plain at all. It had a certain sheen to it, when it caught the light just right, and seemed to move on the breeze like it was floating in water.

“Finally decided to greet the new neighbor, eh?” he asked, meeting his gaze again. The wizard grinned, beard twitching up slightly.

“Did you expect me any sooner?” he asked, and Linus huffed.

“Not at all,” he said dryly, hunkering into his blanket slightly, looking past the wizard to stare at the flickering flames of his fire once more. “I never expect anything.”

“That's a good attitude to have,” the wizard went on, and then chuckled. “Or maybe a poor one. If you never expect anything, you'll always be surprised.”

“Not expecting anything and not paying attention are two different things,” Linus said gruffly, and with a hint of offense.

“True,” the wizard said, tapping the head of a staff carved from curling, purple wood on the ground. “It's a wonder you survived last year, but you're wearing a little thin aren't you, old one?” Linus bristled, now frowning at the fire.

“Yes,” he replied briskly.

“You had some help?” the wizard asked, and Linus grumbled, looking at him again, his irritation mildly subdued under the grinning gaze of the man.

“Yes,” he repeated, “There was plenty of it, at first.”

“I expect that's why you came here,” the wizard went on with a nod, tapping the ground again once, twice, three times. He hummed. “That's wearing thin, too.”

“This is how it goes,” Linus said, a hint of weariness threading into his tone that the wizard did not comment on, merely nodding again.

“Indeed it is,” he agreed, then settled back on his heels, lifting his staff slightly. “Why don't you come with me?”

Linus huffed and did not answer, a little bad tempered because of the cold and the stiff pain in his joints. He didn't feel like going anywhere, would rather freeze to death on the spot than make a trip across the valley. Then again, a tiny voice mused, he wouldn't have to make the whole trip, would he? Maybe he wouldn't have to make any of it. Something like a memory fluttered through his mind, and there it was again, frail as a melting snowflake, quick as the wind– and there it went, faded to nothing before it had even fully appeared.

“Have you got any boots on in there?” the wizard asked after a moment, gesturing with his staff towards the sleeping bag Linus was sitting in. Linus harrumphed.

“No,” he stated firmly, “I don't wear clothing made by mortal men.”

“It's a good thing I'm no mortal man, then,” and the wizard lifted one side of his robe, exposing a set of thick, black boots that Linus looked at with a sigh. “The spoils of this world are for us, old friend. You remember that, don't you?”

Linus did, and he remembered hearing that quite a lot at one point in his life. He shifted with another gruff noise, letting the blanket slide from his bare shoulders, the garment made of golden leaves, still fresh from fall some twenty years ago, hanging from him like a long tunic. It was warm, but only on the parts that it covered, and it only covered to about his knees. The wizard's eyes seemed to light up with excitement upon seeing it, and he shifted back slightly as Linus rose to step out of the sleeping bag. He moved the boots so Linus could step directly out of the tent and into them. They were warm, like he thought they would be, and comfortable. He didn't bother telling the man this, still annoyed that they had been given to him in the first place.

“The Junimo made that for you,” the wizard observed, and Linus nodded as he emerged from the tent.

“Dawn of my first year,” he said, and the wizard gave a good-natured laugh, rising to stand next to him.

“What happened to your clothing? Don't tell me you were running around naked until they gave it to you?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. Linus frowned.

“No,” he said vaguely. The wind was biting at his exposed legs, his bare arms, and he shivered. “They...” But he couldn't really remember what happened to them. Things started to get a little fuzzy when he tried. He thought he might have burned them.

The wizard hummed, still looking amused as he held out his hand, and Linus took it, noting the texture of his skin. It was rough like his, but he wondered if it was for the same reasons, and then doubted it. His were rough from mining, from foraging, from digging. They were scarred from years of small, deep cuts that he hadn't been able to heal away properly– the twisting scar on his left pinkie was from a mine cart, the one snaking along the side of his right hand was from a long fall. He couldn't remember where he got the puckered burn, like a twelve-pointed star pressed into his wrist, but it was probably from the coals of his campfire, or from the torches down in the mine. He couldn't count the number of times he'd accidentally burnt himself, and he didn't care to try. Fire was tricky business, when you couldn't tell it what to do.

“That's a high quality raiment,” the wizard commented, leading Linus a few steps away from his tent and then stopping. “But you'd be better off if they made you pants to go with it. Maybe an undershirt to keep you from freezing your limbs.”

“It suits me fine,” Linus grumbled defensively, and the wizard chuckled.

“Well,” he replied, and in between one word and the next, there was a sound like a high-pitched engine revving up, magic rising like a sudden, misting sheen over the world. With an abrupt drop, like his stomach bottoming out or leaving entirely, they were elsewhere.

“That's fair enough,” the wizard was continuing, and then dropped his hand, passing by an enormous black cauldron to the left side of the room, big enough for three men to stew in. Linus straightened his back and glowered at the far wall in an attempt to look like he wasn't about to vomit, not moving an inch for fear he would stumble as the wizard wandered into the room. He hadn't quite caught his bearings yet, and he thought that he hadn't ever liked traveling this way. “I've got a few things for you.”

Linus huffed a sigh, but didn't protest. He didn't really have a choice in the matter, he would get the gifts whether he wanted them or not, and he didn't know how he knew this. He just did. They'd show up back in his tent, or worse, they'd follow him around until he accepted them, and he put his hands on his hips sternly, frowning at the room.

“It had better be something edible, at least,” he thought to say, not trying to disguise his impatience, and the wizard laughed, disappearing up the staircase at the back of the room, to the right of a black lectern stood on marble tile. “That's what I can use, things that are edible. The river doesn't give much this time of year. Neither does the forest.”

“It's all mine carrots and scraps, is it?” the wizard asked, projecting his voice to the room Linus was in, and he sniffed pridefully.

“It is,” he said, “And whatever I've got left from fall and summer.”

“Don't keep like they used to,” the wizard replied conversationally, and Linus felt a deep, resonating agreement. He nodded vigorously at the empty room, then finally chanced a step forward and found that he could keep his balance. With a groaning sigh, he meandered over to the wooden dinner table in the corner and sank into the chair closest to the wall, relaxed into it as he waited for the wizard's return.

“They keep better than anything else anywhere else,” he called out belatedly, the thought coming to him suddenly, and he knew it was true. “In most cases, and most places.”

“True,” the wizard said, descending the stairs with a knapsack in one hand and a brown undershirt folded atop a pair of brown trousers slung over the arm carrying his staff. Linus groaned, and the wizard chuckled, seeming highly amused. “How long has it been since you've worn pants, you old mountain man?” Linus tutted, glancing away.

“I don't want them,” he said, but reached for them anyway when the wizard approached, holding the clothing out and then dropping the knapsack at his feet. “I'm faster like this.”

“Yes, and you'll have an easier time catching your death,” the wizard remarked dryly, and Linus sent him an irritable look, which did not seem to phase him at all but to make him roll his eyes, put a hand on his hip. “I would say that if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't be acting this way,” he said, “but I know it isn't true, and besides,” he pointed down as Linus stepped out of his boots to put on the trousers on, “I've worn those, and I prefer my own.” Linus grumbled incoherently for a moment, shucking off the Junimo garment next to pull on his new undershirt.

“I never liked anyone with a sense of humor,” he lied sarcastically, his beard hiding the way one corner of his mouth twitched up, and the wizard chuckled.

“I'll send you away if you breath a word to anyone,” the wizard lied right back, then tapped his staff on the ground as Linus stepped back into his boots, slipped the Junimo tunic on over his new clothing. “Everybody in this valley fears me, and I won't have them thinking they can start coming around here to leave those gifts and trinkets at my door again,” he curled his lip suddenly and glared to the side. “Bunch of junk that was, what use have _I_ for a wooden chicken?”

“They didn't give _me_ anything when I showed up,” Linus muttered, sinking back down into the chair, and the wizard joined him at the table, sat himself down across from him. He hummed pridefully.

“Well, you don't have a fine stone tower, now do you?” he asked, “And I was here first... The best of it was a rhubarb pie, anyway. If I miss anything, that would be it.”

“Can't make one yourself, can you?” Linus asked, and allowed himself a small smile, his tone mildly taunting. The wizard grinned again.

“I just take theirs,” he confided, leaning back in his chair and tapping his staff on the wooden floor again. “They never know where it goes... but they've been getting a little brave again, I think. One of them settled close to the river, in that old cabin. And some of the young ones sometimes wander right up to my door to peek in the window. I think one of them has a bit of magic in her. Maybe a suitable heir, one day.”

Linus was quietly thoughtful. He didn't know who the wizard might be talking about, but he had lived in the valley long enough that he thought he should, and the discussion of heirs had made him want to withdraw and go to sleep. He leaned back heavily in his chair, visage drooping as if to do just that, and the wizard stood, twirled his staff and conjured a bed in place of the table. The act was so sudden that it made Linus jump, and he thanked Yoba that he had not been sitting with his legs under the table.

“Get some rest, old one,” the wizard said, moving his chair aside as Linus got to his feet and stepped out of his boots to climb up onto the bed. “I'll wake you when it's time to go.” He merely grunted in response, too distracted by how soft the linens were to form a better reply.

How long had it been since he'd last slept in a bed? He couldn't remember, and at this point, he thought that he shouldn't bother trying. As he drifted off, curled up under a thick, down comforter, he saw the wizard cross the room to the cauldron, inspecting the simmering contents with a critical eye.

Then, the world faded into dreams.

~*~

“Do I know you?” Linus asked when he woke up some odd hours later, gaze still bleary with sleep. The wizard did not look up from his cauldron. He was stewing something that smelled awful, like old rotten logs and seaweed. It was the smell that had woken Linus, and his expression crinkled.

“No,” the wizard replied, dropping in some glittering silver flakes and lifting a large, blackened ladle out of the mixture to watch it slough off in large, viscous drops.

“Would you be honest with me,” Linus began, tone strained as he dragged himself up into a sitting position, “if I did?” He sighed, rubbing his aching back as he craned his neck to try and get a look at what the wizard was cooking. The wizard hummed thoughtfully, stirring his cauldron quietly for a long moment, and Linus waited, reaching up to rub some sleep from his eyes.

“Perhaps,” he said finally, “But probably not. Then again, I may not even be telling the truth right now.”

“With an answer like that, I don't think it matters,” Linus grumbled, then tossed the blanket off and twisted in his seat. He threw his legs over the side and scooted forward to sit on the edge, as if he were preparing to rise, but wasn't quite ready yet.

“Fair enough,” the wizard said mildly with a grin, and there was a moment of silence while Linus watched him work.

“Is that edible?” he asked, and the wizard huffed a chuckle.

“Only if you're brave,” he said ominously, lifting the ladle again to show him the thick green mixture, “but it will not kill you.” Linus wrinkled his nose.

“It smells terrible,” he commented gruffly, and the wizard snickered.

“You know,” he said, reaching for something on the short, wooden stool that was set out next to him at the cauldron and lifting what looked like a handful of pine needles over the pot. He sprinkled them in slowly as he stirred, and the change in smell that drifted through the room was immediate, a noxious pine that made Linus grimace. “There is not much that can surprise me anymore, and I don't know what it says about the way the world is going that you caught me off guard when I sensed your presence enter the valley,” he paused, emptying the rest of the needles from his palm into the cauldron, stirring them into the thick, green goop as the smell grew nearly unbearable, “Or maybe it says something about me.”

“Maybe it says something about both,” Linus remarked through gritted teeth, “It doesn't have to be one way or the other.” The wizard hummed, nodding.

“Too true,” he said, “Regardless, there are not many of us left, anymore, and I was not expecting to see another of my kind again. Do you know why that is?”

“I... think so, yes,” Linus said, casting his gaze towards the far wall, frowning in thought as he watched flames flicker in a torch. He used to know, but now the information skirted around the edges of his mind as if it were hiding. He saw the wizard nod in his peripheral.

“When nature dies, so too do we,” he said, voice far away, “You were very smart to get away when you did. I suppose you just spent too much time out there, didn't you?”

“I was... stubborn,” Linus said, the words coming to him suddenly, like something from a dream. His frown grew deeper. “I think I always was.... It just wasn't... fair?”

“No,” the wizard agreed, “it wasn't,” and he reached down to pour a mortar full of brown powder into the mix. The smell vanished in an instant as the mixture sparked and rumbled, like an angry, sleeping giant. Or an empty stomach. Linus' took that moment to remember he hadn't eaten since....

“What time is it?” he asked suddenly, and the wizard glanced in his direction, then away.

“I have no need for mortal measurements, but the sun has set,” he said primly, like it was an inside joke, and Linus huffed, almost rolling his eyes. “You have been asleep all afternoon.”

“I'm a bit hungry,” he commented idly, gaze traveling towards the magic circle on the square of cobblestone flooring against the right wall.

“We'll have something to eat soon, then,” the wizard replied, gazing quietly into his concoction for a moment, and then, “It's good that you came here,” he went on, “anywhere else might have been too far, or too faded. This is one of the last places around here, aside from the desert, where you can still feel magic in the air. You may have lost most of what made you like us, but it will keep you alive, at least.” He made some vague gesture towards Linus. “The Junimo have accepted you into the valley. That is more than enough to tie you here.” Linus grunted, reaching up to scratch at his beard.

“They're hiding,” he commented suddenly, and the wizard nodded.

“They have been hiding for a very long time, ever since the humans settled in this valley,” the wizard said, and Linus frowned.

“No, only for a decade, or so,” he replied, watching the way the wizard stopped stirring immediately, expression suddenly flat and neutral. “They've become quiet.” There was a beat of silence.

“Is that so,” the wizard muttered slowly, beginning to stir again, recovering quickly from his brief moment of stillness. “Well, they never liked me, anyway. I suppose it's enough that they let me stay here.”

He lifted the ladle from the pot and spooned the contents into a small wooden bowl, then dropped the ladle back in, where it floated against the edge. He grabbed his staff, then turned towards Linus, gesturing for him to get up, and he did, with some difficulty. The bed disappeared with a twirl of the wizard's staff, and the table sat in its place, so Linus moved around it to seat himself in a chair. The wizard joined him, setting the bowl down before him with a grim smile.

“I suppose it's time to be brave, hm?” Linus asked dryly, frowning tiredly up at the wizard, who chuckled, nodded.

“This should help a bit,” the wizard told him as he pulled his chair away from the wall and sat himself down, and, “At the very least, it won't kill you,” he reminded Linus, who sighed.

“That's what you like to hear when someone offers you dinner,” he muttered, lifting the bowl to his lips while the wizard gave a sudden laugh.

He drank deeply, wrinkling his nose at the acrid pine flavor. It was like a punch to the gut, and he could not suppress a gag when he was finished, face scrunching up like he'd just eaten something rotten– and he very well might have. The wizard was watching him impassively from across the table, and after a brief moment, when he had recovered from the taste, he realized his back was not aching anymore. He took a minute to process this, looking at the wizard with a puzzled sort of frown, and then stood. His knees did not creak, and when he flexed his arms, none of his joints protested. The relief was palpable, and he sighed, sitting back down, an involuntary smile flitting over his features as he lifted a hand to wipe the residual potion from his beard with his undershirt's sleeve.

It was like some weight had been lifted from him. Some burden he hadn't even been aware of until now, and all of his irritation and gruffness began to melt away.

“Thank you,” he said, and the wizard smiled at him.

“Of course, old friend,” he replied, and then conjured up something for them to eat. He was likely stealing their dinner from the people down in the valley, but Linus did not ask questions about where the food came from, merely digging in while he had the chance. And for a moment, he felt some familiar, phantom of a feeling brush against him. Something like belonging, something old that still felt new.

And then it was gone, and Linus was downing a goblet of cranberry juice and laughing boisterously as the wizard told him a story about the early days in the valley– something about the little creature who lives in the pipes.

~*~

It was another month before the snow slowed down, and Linus woke slowly one morning, peacefully, to a silent tower. He rose with a yawn, stretched luxuriously, and then slid off of the bed and paused in the empty room. There really wasn't much to do in here, and he hadn't bothered to poke around much in his time staying with the wizard, wouldn't dare to snoop when he wasn't even home– or worse, when he _was_ home, just in another room.

Rasmodius, that's what his name was, though Linus had never once thought to ask. He'd slid the book over to Linus one evening while they chatted over dinner, and that night while Linus was reading, a little slip of paper had fluttered out. A name was written there, penned in the wizard's handwriting with ink that was vibrantly purple and glittered against the parchment. The name had sounded right, had rung in his head like one low, long note from a church's bell. Rasmodius.

Linus had known instinctively to never say the name out loud, to never tell anyone else what had just been shared with him. He had stood from the bed immediately, gone over to the fireplace and tossed the note into the flames, watched it burn as he rolled the name around in his head.

It was a good name, he had decided. No better name for a wizard. It suited him.

“I haven't stayed too long yet, have I?” he asked now in the empty room, and only the crackle from the fire answered him for a moment, popping and snapping as it ate away at the logs, likely chatting up a storm that he could not understand.

“I haven't woken you yet, have I?” Rasmodius answered from some other room, a hint of amusement in his tone. The bed vanished behind Linus' back with a pop. When he turned around, the table had returned, and he scooped up one of the many books that he had left in a stack on the floor nearby before seating himself down.

“No,” he said, more to himself than to Rasmodius, and he thumbed to the page he'd left off on with a small grin, “I suppose not.”

~*~

Linus stayed until the end of winter.

When he left, the knapsack was full with provisions, along with many vials of the awful potion. A gift, Rasmodius had said with a hardy grin, and when Linus left behind the clothing he'd been given, Rasmodius did not stop him, but folded them neatly and sent them away to some other room of the tower. He saw him off without stepping foot outdoors, but even after he closed the door and disappeared inside, Linus still did not feel alone.

He made the quiet journey home, enjoying the fresh air of spring, the lingering winter chill that was now refreshing rather than biting. He cut through the old abandoned farm to avoid the townsfolk, foraged for fruit on his way. And when he got back, everything was still right where he left it.

He didn't bother to put out the fire still blazing in front of his tent. He liked to see it lit.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if some of this doesn't seem Quite Right, canon-wise. and sorry if the characterization seems off.  
> i was actually unsure about this one, and maybe i should have scrapped it and started over, but i liked how it turned out, so  
> if anything doesn't quite line up with canon, maybe this is a very slightly skewed alternate universe
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
